


Until the Sirens Sound, I'm Safe

by howtotrainyournana



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, Character Analysis, Closure, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Missing Scenes, Pines Family, Post-Weirdmaggedon, Pre-Portal, Young Stan, Young Stan Twins, portal ford, young ford
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 04:17:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9418139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howtotrainyournana/pseuds/howtotrainyournana
Summary: A series of snapshots from the past, present, and future; featuring a loose collection of missing scenes, different points of view, introspection, and closure.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I initially wrote this last summer in mid-July, for various reasons, so I'll include my notes from back then for a proper explanation. All of the following notes, including end-of-chapter notes, are from July. 
> 
> >>So a few weeks ago while I was on vacation, I happened across a song that got me thinking on Gravity Falls (ha, big surprise there, right?). The more I listened to it, the more I started thinking. Pretty soon, I started writing. And writing. And writing some more.
> 
> I have wanted to do some snapshots of missing or off-screen scenes for a while, and this song gave me the perfect structure to do just that. These little drabbles are not based off of the song, per say, and they most definitely can be read without paying any attention to the lyrics, if that’s not your cup of tea. The lyrics simply lend themselves well to the overall structure of the show and the music … well, I’ll let that speak for itself.
> 
> The song is “Earth” by Sleeping At Last, and you can find it fairly easily on YouTube.
> 
> Also, please bear in mind that I wrote this without including information from either Journal 3 or from the Cipher Hunt, as I started it before Journal 3 was released and the Cipher Hunt began. (Also note that I have had my Journal for three days and have not read it, so as to not have new information in my mind. I have no idea where this self control came from. It’s probably because I had my mom hide the Journal and not give it back to me until I was done with this story XD).
> 
> And again, these are only my interpretations and ideas of events, so take them with a grain of salt. That being said, please enjoy! And as always, stay lovely my dears.

_I dig ‘til my shovel tells a secret,_  
_Swear to the earth that I will keep it,_  
_Brush off the dirt_  
_And let my change of heart occur._

The dark earth of the Oregon forest smelled strongly of life and damp and decay. It was a strange paradoxical way to describe it, but it was the only fitting description. The shovel bit deeper into the earth.

Stanford wiped the sweat from his brow, the heavy hood of his cloak trapping the heat in with him. He refused to take it off. _Let it mask my shame for once. Let it hide me from the world like the earth will hide my follies._

The hole grew deeper with each angry swing of metal. _Why did he betray me? Was it really all a trick?_

A grating sound screeched out as the shovel hit a large rock. Stanford bent down and grabbed it, throwing it with vehemence into the dark forest. _Was I really that blind to not see his true intentions? Could I have made such a terrible mistake?_

Dark clumps of earth flew as he again picked up the shovel and kept digging. _Did our friendship really mean that little to him? Did it mean anything at all?_

Sweat was not the only thing running down Stanford’s face as he deemed the hole deep enough and all but threw the bundle on the ground into the hole. It was the second Journal, carefully bound in waterproof wrappings and thick leather to protect it from the earth. He jammed the shovel into the pile of earth next to the hole and lifted it up to cover up the record of his research, his work, _his shame, his mistake … his friend._

A six-fingered hand found its way to the cold leather bundle. Rain began to fall, turning the earth to mud around the figure now huddled in the hole in the ground. It was far too large for the rather small book – more of a yawning grave, really. Not nearly so deep, but broad enough. _Fitting, as a part of Stanford Pines will be buried here._ Six fingers fumbled at the leather, undid the careful ties, pried apart the thick metal casing around the precious red book. Six fingers traced muddy prints over the gold glinting off the cover as rain dripped down on it. Six fingers curled over the well-worn spine and clutched the book to a heaving chest.

In the rain and the dark and the mud, curled in a grave dug by his own hands, Stanford Pines wept.

 

_Sold soon after the appraisal,_  
_The hammer struck the auction table_  
_Louder than anything I’ve ever heard._

_“No! I’ll stop you! I’LL SHUT IT DOWN!”_

Stanford had been so sure of himself when he had shouted those words at his former Muse. He had been so filled with rage, with hurt, with righteous anger and betrayal. He had felt in that moment that there was nothing Bill could do to stop his plan. Now he felt there was nothing he could do to stop Bill’s.

Stanford emptied his glass and poured another drink.

It had been months since Bill’s betrayal, since Fiddleford’s departure and descent into madness (since _his_ descent into madness, but he would never admit that, _could_ never admit that). He took a long gulp of the drink, the alcohol burning its way down his throat.

Ford stared into the bottom of his glass. The last few drops of his drink swirled around with the melting ice, mocking him. _Round and round and round we go, where we stop, only I know!_ Bill had sung that particular children’s song on occasion. Ford had never given it much thought at the time, chalking it up to Bill’s whimsical nature. Now he saw the thinly-veiled taunts and mockery for what they were.

_How could I have been so blind? Why did I trust so easily? I should not have trusted so easily._

_I should never trust again._

The glass emptied many more times that night.

 

_Fault lines tremble underneath my glass house._  
_But I put it out of my mind_  
_Long enough to call it courage_  
_To live without a lifeline._  
_I bend the definition_  
_Of faith to exonerate my blind eye._  
_“'til the sirens sound, I’m safe.”_

He had sent the postcard as a last resort. Against all his better judgement, against his own protesting logic, against his own experience, he had decided to trust again.

To trust someone who had betrayed him once.

Someone who could very easily betray him again.

And he had been right.

When Stan had tried to burn the Journal – _burn his research! His life’s work! Everything good that had come out of this godforsaken town and his time spent as partners with … with …_ – he had snapped. They struggled and fought over the book, running heedlessly into the equipment around the lab. He had never heard the whir of machinery, seen the telltale glow of the reactors, felt the shifts in gravity and reality. He had been too blinded by rage, by betrayal, by anguish and by fear to realize what he _should_ have been afraid of.

There had been a moment of sickening realization after his feet left the earth at Stanley’s shove. As Stan had reached out to him in confusion, in fear. As he pedaled his own feet in a futile attempt to come back down. As his mind slammed back into the present moment with all the weight of reality.

The Portal tugged at him, and Stanford Pines felt fear.

_No this can’t be happening, this can’t be happening, I can’t go in there, HE is in there, I can’t_ – “Stanley, Stanley _help me!_ ” he shouted. _I can’t go through there, please I can’t do it, I can’t do it._ “Stanley! _Stanley! Do_ something!” he screamed. His brother panicked on the ground while the Portal pulled Ford closer to it. He looked back at it in fear and saw only swirling brightness. _Oh god oh god no please no._ Stanford threw the last piece of the puzzle – his first Journal – towards his brother. _Please please please no, no I can’t go, he’ll save me, he’ll help me, “STANLEY!”_

The bright light of the Portal surrounded him. Heat and cold washed over him as he broke the surface of it, still screaming for his brother. Lightning crackled around him as he fell backwards and down, down, down. A myriad of colors pressed in on him with immense pressure as he continued to fall, still screaming. The bright light above him went out, and he turned in the direction he was falling. The screaming continued. His glasses had fallen off at some point, making it hard to distinguish shapes and colors and features, and was that darkness getting closer? It was so hard to tell, _everything was so vivid, nothing made sense, he was so afraid, he couldn’t see, he couldn’t think, he couldn’t stop screaming, he couldn’t –_

With a loud thump, the screaming stopped.

 

_Meanwhile, my family’s taking shelter._  
_The sparks send the fire down the wire,_  
_A countdown begins,_  
_Until the dynamite gives in._

He had spent thirty years working to bring his brother back. Had spent so long working on the Portal. So many sleepless nights, so many bitter failures, so many frustrated, tearstained hours pounding metal into place and physics equations into his head. He had poured his life, his soul, his hopes and dreams into the damned thing.

And now, as he ran through the forest, desperate to make it back in time, he begged whatever powers may be that part of his family not be responsible for keeping another part away. 

Permanently.

_Thirty years and he’ll soon be back, the real Mystery in the Mystery Shack,_ Stan thought giddily, a small but irresistible bubble of humor breaking through his panic. Branches tore at his jacket and arms and legs. _Please don’t have let Dipper shut it down. Please, no. I can’t lose him again. I can’t lose him again. I worked so hard for this. Please, let me succeed for once._

_Please, let me be good for something after all._  
*  
“Grunkle Stan, I don’t even know if you’re my Grunkle!”

Tears floated upwards in the antigravity, and the three men fighting in the air froze. _What have I done. She should never have had to cry over this. She should be happy, my smiling Mabel, she shouldn’t–_

“I want to believe you, but …”

“Then listen to me. Remember this morning when I said I wanted to tell you guys somethin’?” The countdown calmly stated twenty seconds left, and a great blast of light and energy burst out of the portal and slammed the group in the air back into the wall. There were screams of pain and fear, and when the madness subsided Mabel raised her fist to shut down the Portal permanently.

_No, please, no,_ Stan thought through the haze of pain and dizziness ringing through his head. He desperately called out to her again. “I wanted to say that you’re gonna hear some bad things about me, and some of ‘em are true. But trust me. Everything I’ve worked for, everything I care about, it’s all for this family!” he pleaded. _Please, don’t do this to me. You don’t know what you’re doing, what’s at stake. I know you shouldn’t, but trust me._

“Mabel, what if he’s lying? This thing could destroy the universe! _Listen to your head!_ ” Dipper shouted.

“Look into my eyes, Mabel! _You really think I’m a bad guy?_ ” _Do you, do you, do you? You should._

“He’s lying! Shut it down, _now!_ ”

“Mabel, _please!_ ” _Please don’t do this. Please trust me. Please let me save him._

“Ten, nine,” the calm voice counted. _Ten more seconds, just give me ten more seconds. Give him ten more seconds. Please._

Mabel closed her eyes and reached for the red button. _Please no, god no, I love you Mabel, please don’t do this to me. Please don’t trap him there alone. Please don’t trap me here alone._ She looked up at him again, her uncertain fear meeting his pleading desperation.

“Grunkle Stan?” She turned from him, eyes closed.

“Six, five,” the calm voice counted.

_Please don’t do this Mabel. Please trust me. I know I don’t deserve it, and you’d be right to press that button. But please, please trust me. I’ve worked so hard. It’s all I have left. Please let me save my brother._

“I trust you.”

She let go of the pedestal and floated to the middle of the spinning Portal.

For one brief moment, Stan’s heart clenched in fear as the image of his great-niece drifting in front of the spinning colors was overlaid by another, older image. One he had seen in his nightmares every night for thirty years. His brother’s screaming pleas mingled in his mind with her calm acceptance, and he thought, for one split second of terror, _no, not her too._

“Mabel, are you crazy? We’re all gonna–”

A blast of light and heat and energy ripped through the basement before Stan could complete another thought.

 

_The echo, as wide as the equator,_  
_Travels through a world of built up anger-_  
_Too late to pull itself together now._

Swirling light pulled at him again. It was different from all the other times he had traveled dimensions - different, save for one time. _The first time._ Stanford knew what it meant. _He restarted the Portal. The knucklehead actually did it._ The thought carried equal parts bitterness and pain and happiness and hope. Hope that this really was it, that his exile was over, _he was going home._

Stanford Pines willingly stepped across the sand and into the Portal. This time there was no screaming.  
*  
There was no falling, no pressure, no panic. The tunnel of swirling light seemed more permanent this time. Stanford mulled the information over. _The interdimensional tear in space-time has gotten too big to be repaired simply by closing the Portal. I’ll have to contain it before HE can find it again, before HE gets through. I had hoped that my return to this dimension would bring no further toll on it. I was a fool for believing that [Stanley would do anything but try to get me back] Bill would not find a way to make me pay even if he couldn’t capture me._

The light lessened and in a few more steps the darkness of his underground lab was the only thing around him. He never stopped walking, picking his way through the still-burning rubble of the machine that had torn his life apart in so many ways. _The machine that would keep tearing it apart even if he couldn’t see it with his eyes._ He shook the thought away. A familiar red book caught his eye. _No. No it can’t be._

But it was.

Six fingers found their imprint on the cover of the worn volume. _So much planning, so much careful hiding, and somehow it was still all for naught._ He laughed in his own mind, his throat still somehow frozen with indescribable emotion. _Anger? Joy? Fear? Relief? Despair?_ He didn’t know.

Stanford slipped the treacherous volume into the empty pocket in his coat. A small voice broke through the creak of breaking machinery and the swirl of his thoughts.

“Wha– who is that?”

And then a second voice spoke up. One he had so longed to hear again. One that he thought he never would again. The voice of his brother, his rescuer and the one who had damned him in the first place and had damned him all over again.

“The Author of the Journals - my brother.”

 

_Fault lines tremble underneath our glass house._  
_But I put it out of my mind_  
_Long enough to call it courage_  
_To live without a lifeline._  
_I bend the definition_  
_Of faith to exonerate my blind eye._  
_“'til the sirens sound, I’m safe.”_

_“Because as far as I’m concerned, they’re the only family I have left!”_

The words stung far more than they should have. He had prepared himself for the backlash for his actions and words when he first [fell through] came out of the Portal. He and Stanley had parted on the worst of terms thirty years before, and they had only had time and trial in the meantime to harden their hearts. Stanley had no reason to trust him, no reason to forgive him, no reason to place hope in him. Stanford himself had ensured that with his words to Stanley tonight.

He wandered the basement aimlessly, reacquainting himself with his former home. So much was the same, and so much was different. The machinery that he and Fiddleford had scavenged and rebuilt from the UFO under the town hummed from the recent activity as he went about checking readings and running a few tests.

There was a distinct layer of _Stan_ over everything. Notes and reference books were stacked on top of and in the workstation desk. Sticky notes with equations, doodles, and ramblings littered the room. A picture of the twins smiling happily adorned the place of honor on the top shelf of the desk, propped up on a book. He had found the picture while cleaning the rubble from the room, the frame smashed to pieces but the photo itself intact. _Thank goodness._

Stanford picked up a beaker and wandered the room.

The reminders of his brother brought conflicting thoughts and emotions. On one hand, he was reluctantly proud of Stan, although he would never admit it. Stan had managed to re-create his work from thirty years before single-handedly and with only a third of the instructions, if Stan’s words were to be trusted. _Ha. Yes, trust the professional conman. Because that’s worked out SO WELL for you before._ The bitter words rattled around his mind. 

Because, on the other hand, Stanford Filbrick Pines was well and truly furious. Because, however well-intentioned Stanley’s actions were, they illogical, unwanted, and unnecessary.

He had come to terms with his banishment thirty years ago, even before the Portal. He had written blatant instructions in both visible and invisible ink ( _and if Stanley was smart enough to figure out how to rebuild the Portal, surely he was smart enough to look for invisible ink in a journal full of secrets_ ) in the journal to never restart the Portal. When he was pulled through, after his panic and pain had abated, he had fallen into despair, accepted his fate, and begun what he believed would be the rest of his life as a traveler of the Multiverse. It was a hard existence, to be sure (especially as he lacked proper eyewear for the first few months of his time) but it was one full of rewards. So much knowledge to be gained! So many new cultures and scientific discoveries to explore! [So many places to try and escape from Bill in] so many new worlds to travel to!

And then Stan had ruined it.

He had ruined it like he had ruined Ford’s science fair project in high school when Ford had simply asked for space. He had ruined it like he had ruined Ford’s chances of attending his dream school and making the impact on the world he knew he was capable of. He had ruined it like he had ruined Ford’s well-thought-out plan to defeat Bill and prevent the end of the world.

And Stan was unrepentant again, foolishly believing that his actions somehow had a silver lining that acquitted him of any wrongdoing. It made Stanford furious. So, understandably, he had told Stanley that at the end of the summer Stan and the Mystery Shack would be leaving Stanford’s house and life.

Permanently.

Stanford realized that he had been turning the beaker over and over in his hands for the past ten minutes as he paced and thought. He let out a frustrated sigh and set the glassware down on the desk. Something tucked away on a shelf in the corner caught his eye. He paced over and pulled a familiarly-shaped bottle out of a crumpled brown bag.

He stood staring at it for another few minutes, the same arguments and pain and worries pounding against the metal in his head. Turning abruptly, he walked back to the desk and pulled out the chair. Uncorking the bottle he poured the contents into the beaker, filling it to the brim.

_The rift will hold for tonight,_ he thought to himself. _There will be time to tear it apart and put it right. To put everything right. [But there is no putting this right we’re too far apart there’s too much pain too many mistakes too much time.]_

_There’s no point trying to fix something that just keeps breaking, anyway._

Not for the first time in thirty years, Stanford Pines drank himself to sleep.  
*  
While Stanford Pines paced the basement, Stanley Pines paced the attic hallway. He had no idea what to do. Thirty years of hopes and dreams and plans had been dashed apart in mere minutes of conversation. The words he had thrown at Stanford rang through his head again and again: _“Because as far as I’m concerned, they’re the only family I have left!”_

It left a bitter taste in his mouth, but it was truth.

He had successfully brought his brother back alive and well from a different dimension, and Dipper and Mabel Pines were the only family that Stanley Pines had left.

Stan kicked at a box of sock puppets left lying in a corner of the attic. The colorful items scattered across the floor, googly eyes rattling in protest. He continued his angry pacing until the crunch of paper and plastic caught his attention. He looked down at the sock puppet under his foot and his breath caught in his throat.

The burnt pen-and-construction-paper likeness of his face glowered up at him accusingly.

_Well, isn’t that accurate,_ he thought to himself as he bent down on aching knees to scoop the puppet up. _The puppet went down in flames and now it’s been crushed._

It was crafted with all the typical love and skill Mabel poured into all of her projects, right down to the loopy ‘Mabel Pines’ signature on the back. His eyes grew hot at the sight of his beloved niece’s name. She had trusted him when everything and everyone around her had told her not to. That same undeserved trust had allowed him to fulfill one of the most important dreams of his entire life. And that trust had been utterly pointless in the end.

He had brought his brother back but Stanford wanted nothing to do with him. He had reopened the Portal but had caused irreparable damage to the world. He had reached his goal but had been shorted his prize. _Useless. Useless. Useless._ Thirty years and he still couldn’t do things right.

And Dipper. The boy who had been so sure that Stan had been up to no good and was so certain Stan couldn’t be trusted. The boy who, not five minutes after Ford’s return, had fully and totally forgiven him, going so far as to empathize with the outed conman. The boy who now trusted him when it was such a logical decision not to.

Stanley Pines paced back and forth in the attic hallway, thinking about the future.

Ford had made it abundantly clear that Stan and the Mystery Shack would both be leaving at the end of the summer. These next few weeks would be a grace period. They would be the last bit of time he would get to spend in the town he had built his life into. It would probably be the last time he would have a home. _It will probably be the last time I get to see the kids, too. Why would their parents let them stay with a homeless, jobless grifter?_

Stan stopped in front of the door to the kids’ room. Turning the door handle quietly, he cracked the door open and peered inside. Dipper was sound asleep, curled around his pillow. Mabel seemed to be sleeping as well, but she had rolled over when the door opened so Stan wasn’t sure. _I should let them sleep. They don’t have anything to worry about, anyway. They’ll always have each other._

He shut the door quietly and walked down the hall to his room. _I can’t let them know. It would break their hearts to see us fighting [would it? No it wouldn’t yes it would you can’t do that to them they wouldn’t care about your problems of course they would care why would they care.] Don’t make them take sides. It will only break them apart and you know you can’t live with that._

Stan collapsed face-first onto the bed, the heat from earlier returning to his eyes. He still held the half-burned puppet caricature of himself in his hands. He clutched it to his chest as tears slowly and steadily dripped down his face.

_At least I’ll get to see the kids for the rest of summer,_ he thought. _They know now. They’ve seen what can happen. They won’t repeat our same mistakes. They’ll be better than I we ever were._

Not for the first time in thirty years, Stanley Pines cried himself to sleep.  
*  
Two hours ago, Dipper Pines met the man he had been searching for the entire summer.

He could hardly contain his excitement at the time ( _but it was perfectly understandable, anyone who suddenly met their favorite celebrity would have done the same!_ ) and honestly, just _thinking_ about the events of the past day were still almost enough to send him into an excited tizzy. The Author of the Journals was his own secret great-uncle! He was related to a certified genius who was an interdimensional traveler to boot! But … he definitely had some concerns.

The twins had been banished to the attic so that Stan and Ford could ‘catch up’ because they ‘had a lot to talk about’ ( _which is just grown-up code for arguing_ ) and after some initial protesting, Dipper found he really didn’t mind. It gave him more time to think, which was one thing he was great at.

Mabel stood at the doorway trying to overhear the conversation taking place in the hallway below, but Dipper was too caught up in his own thoughts to truly pay attention.

The Stans were not on the friendliest of terms at the moment, if Grunkle Ford’s punch was any indicator. How different would their lives be now, with the addition of not just another family member, but all of the history and potential enemies he brought with him? Would they still be able to have fun or would the tense atmosphere tear their peace apart? He didn’t know.

Mabel turned away from the doorway and spoke. “Did you hear what they said? I think Grunkle Ford said they’re gonna buy us puppies made of ice cream! Might be wishful thinking, though.”

“I don’t know if this is good or bad,” Dipper said. “I wanted to meet the Author, but …”

“Yeah,” Mabel sighed. “I liked the way things were here before. Just us, and Stan, and the occasional goblin-monster.”

“Eh, I’m sure they’ll work it out,” Dipper offered. He honestly hoped so.

“Dipper, you don’t think we’ll turn out like Stan and Ford, do you?” Mabel asked earnestly.

Dipper hesitated. “W-what do you mean?” The question sent a shot of worry through him, quickly followed by denial.

Mabel flopped back onto her pillow. “I mean, they used to be best friends but then they got all stupid.” She rolled over and faced Dipper. “Can you promise me _you_ won’t get stupid?”

Dipper laughed, ignoring the little knot of worry in the back of his mind. “Not stupider than you, dumb dumb.”

Mabel laughed, and the knot of worry in Dipper’s mind melted away and was all but forgotten at the sweet sound.

“Good night, stupid,” she said.

“Good night, stupid,” Dipper laughed, flicking the light off. He rolled over and closed his eyes, a smile on his face.

He shouldn’t be worried. After all, the Author was _family_ on top of being a genius. He and Stan would work out their problems like responsible adults and Dipper would have plenty of time to talk to him, ask him questions, [become] his apprentice learn from him. In fact, having a little bit of time to formulate some well-thought-out questions might be a good thing.

_I mean, he IS a genius after all. I don’t want to insult his intelligence or anything by asking dumb questions or making a fool of myself. No, this is for the best. Now that we know Grunkle Stan wasn’t building a doomsday device, everything is fine. We’ve got a brand-new relative who just so happens to be my greatest idol, Stan has his brother back, Mabel has another person to rope into her craziness, great-uncle Ford is back in his home dimension - life is good. I can talk with him tomorrow, and everything will work out great!_

Not for the first time in thirteen years, Dipper Pines fell asleep looking forward to the future.  
*  
Mabel Pines hated fighting.

Fighting meant people were unhappy, and it was one of her top priorities in life to make sure everyone was happy. Unhappiness was pointless and unnecessary, in her opinion. Which made fighting about things, especially over things that seemed so easy to fix, doubly unnecessary and pointless.

The voices at the base of the stairs grew louder, and she distinctly heard Ford’s voice echoing up to the attic door.

“But when the summer is over, you give me my HOUSE back, you give me my NAME back, and this Mystery Shack junk is over forever, you got it?”

_What? No! No no no no no. That can’t be what he - he doesn’t mean that. Stan can’t leave. The Mystery Shack can’t close. This can’t all be over!_

“You stay away from the kids! I don’t want them in danger. Because as far as I’m concerned, they’re the only family I have left.”

Stan’s raised voice followed after his brother’s. The words made Mabel freeze, heart squeezing painfully. _That’s a terrible thing to say. He can’t mean that. Neither of them can really mean what they said, right?_

Mabel turned away from the doorway and spoke. “Did you hear what they said? I think Grunkle Ford said they’re gonna buy us puppies made of ice cream! Might be wishful thinking, though.” _I still hope it’s true. It’s better than what I heard._

“I don’t know if this is good or bad,” Dipper said. “I wanted to meet the Author, but …”

“Yeah,” Mabel sighed. “I liked the way things were here before. Just us, and Stan, and the occasional goblin-monster.” _No mysterious secret past. No twin brother from another dimension planning on breaking up life at the Mystery Shack._

“Eh, I’m sure they’ll work it out,” Dipper offered.

She honestly hoped so. “Dipper, you don’t think we’ll turn out like Stan and Ford, do you?” Mabel asked earnestly. She saw so much of herself in Stan already, and now she saw Dipper in Grunkle Ford. The story they had told of their lives had been causing Mabel to worry since she heard it. If there were so many similarities between the younger and older twins already, what was stopping her and Dipper from turning out the same way Stan and Ford had?

Dipper hesitated. “W-what do you mean?”

Mabel flopped back onto her pillow. “I mean, they used to be best friends but then they got all stupid.” She rolled over and faced Dipper. “Can you promise me _you_ won’t get stupid?” _Please say yes. Please say yes._

Dipper laughed, the sound that usually gave Mabel comfort nagging her with worry instead. “Not stupider than you, dumb dumb.”

Mabel laughed. _He didn’t give me a straight answer. But he meant yes, right? Right? Right?_

“Good night, stupid,” she said. _It’s okay. Everything will be fine._

“Good night, stupid,” Dipper laughed, flicking the light off. He rolled over and closed his eyes, a smile on his face.

Mabel rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling with a sigh, battling her own worried thoughts about the future.

_It’s okay. You gotta be positive, Mabel. Everything will work out fine in the end … right? Stan and Ford will work things out and start getting along. Dipper and I won’t ever end up fighting or hating each other. No one will be going away. Everyone will be happy. Nothing that drastic or tragic will happen. The future will only keep bringing brighter things._

_Stay positive and keep working to make everyone happy, including yourself! Nothing is stronger than the power of Mabel!_

Sometime later the door creaked open. She knew it was Grunkle Stan checking up on them (just like he always did late at night when he thought they were both asleep) but instead of talking to him, Mabel rolled over and feigned sleep. The door closed again. 

_Everything will be fine. It will all work out. Everyone will be happy._

Not for the first time in thirteen years, Mabel Pines fell asleep dreading the future.

 

_There was an earthquake._  
_There was an avalanche of change._  
_We were so afraid,_  
_We cried ourselves a hurricane._  
_There were floods,_  
_Tidal waves over us,_  
_So we folded our hands and prayed._  
_Like a domino,_  
_These wildfires grow and grow_  
_Until a brand new world takes shape._

Stan wasn’t all that surprised, truth be told.

He had rather expected something like this to happen. Sure, he’d hoped it _wouldn’t_ happen, but when had anything actually turned out how he’d hoped before? Mabel had run past him and out of the house, bawling her eyes out, just moments before. Dipper had come tumbling down the stairs shortly after her and barreled right into Stan, who had caught him by the arms to keep him upright and to question him, which he was currently doing.

“Whoa, kid, what’s wrong? Why’s Mabel crying?” he asked. Dipper pulled at the arms encircling him, but Stan didn’t budge.

Dipper looked up at Stan and took a deep breath. “We got in a fight. I told Mabel that I was going to stay in Gravity Falls to be Ford’s apprentice and she panicked and ran away. It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have sprung it on her like that. But I can’t go after her right now, I have to go help Ford with - with … with something.” Dipper pulled at Stan’s grip again, and this time Stan let him slip out of his grasp and to the vending machine door.

Stan stared blankly after Dipper. _I can’t believe it. I can’t believe I let this happen. I should never have let him spend time with my brother. I thought it would be fine but like USUAL I was wrong. Now they’re repeating our mistakes and falling apart._ Stan stomped into the gift shop behind Dipper and rummaged behind the counter. He angrily pulled out several wooden signs, a hammer, and nails. _Fine then. My brother wants to screw up another set of siblings, HE can deal with fixing ‘em. If I tried talking to Ford right now, I think I’d probably actually kill him._

Stan all but kicked the back door open and stomped off into the woods. He walked for a few minutes before dropping the signs on the ground and pulling out the hammer and nails. Nearby, Gompers chewed on the grass.

_Stupid stupid stupid. He’s stupid. I’m stupid. They’re stupid. ALL OF THIS IS STUPID._ He viciously hammered the sign into a tree. He sighed, some of the fight going out of him.

_Maybe I should go find them, try to get ‘em to talk it out. They’re only kids. They need someone to guide ‘em through this [someone who won’t try to keep them apart; someone who understands what it means to try and reconcile.]_ His thoughts were interrupted when Gompers grabbed the tassel on his hat.

Anger sparked inside him. “HEY! That’s it goat! It’s time I threw you off this property for good!”

A wave of iridescent purple light rolled over them, and suddenly the goat grew in size until it towered above the trees. Stan stumbled back. _What the hell?_

“On second thought, I’m going to run like a coward now,” Stan said. Gompers bleated and Stan turned and ran screaming as the goat crashed after him.

As he ran, he caught sight of the sky above the treetops. A great glowing ‘x’ crossed the hellish red the sky had taken on without him noticing. _Of course. Of course the sky starts vomiting nightmares and the apocalypse happens when I need to fix things. I just hope the kids are both back in the Shack, safe. I have to protect them. I promised I would keep them safe._

He slammed the door against the next wave of weirdness and backed away. The totem pole outside the Shack came to life and slammed up against what looked like a barrier. Glowing symbols surrounded him and in seconds the totem pole fell over, dead. _That unicorn voodoo really worked. Looks like the house is safe from all the weirdness._ Stan ran through the house, yelling for the kids.

“Dipper! Mabel! Where are you?”

He searched the Shack from attic to Portal room, but they were nowhere to be found. Stan was alone. The house was empty.

_So much for keeping promises._

 

_Fault lines tremble underneath our glass house._  
_But I put it out of my mind_  
_Long enough to call it courage_  
_To live without a lifeline._  
_I bend the definition_  
_Of faith to exonerate my blind eye._  
_“'til the sirens sound, I’m safe.”_

“What other choice do we have?”

It was funny, really. Stan always had an escape plan, a way out, a cheat code for life that somehow saw him out of every sticky situation he had ever been in. He didn’t always get out unscathed (his shoulder and his arm and the fake teeth in his mouth attested to that), but he always made it out alive.

Stan Pines, the consummate survivor.

“Not one you’re gonna like,” he murmured. _At least, I hope not. You might like it after all._

“What was that, Stanley?” Ford asked distractedly and turned to him, guilt and pain and desperation and - and fear etched into his face. Stan had always thought he himself looked like the older twin, especially since Ford’s return from that hellhole of a different dimension. Now, for the first time, Stanford looked his age. Older, actually. _He looks like a man already dead._ Stan vehemently shook the thought from his head.

“I said hand me your clothes.” Stan reached out his hand to Ford.

Ford blinked at him.

_God, he really does look like an owl,_ Stan laughed in his mind, slightly hysterically. “We’re switching places, genius. One last con.”

Realization swept over Stanford’s features. “Stanley, are you _crazy?_ You really think you can pull one over on Bill? He’s a being who’s been around for countless millennia, and you expect to be able to–”

“ _What other choice do we have?_ ”

Having his own logic and words spat back at him was not what Stanford had been expecting. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, unable to come up with a single argument. What Stan was suggesting was foolishness, was madness, was bound for failure … was infinitely more than he deserved.

Stan had already shrugged out of his jacket and was unbuttoning the white shirt underneath. “C’mon, Poindexter, we don’t have all day. That crazy triangle could come back any minute - and I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to be caught in my undies.” He laughed, but it was hollow and he looked anywhere but at Ford. “I know you probably don’t think I’m capable of pulling it off, but trust me on this. I won’t disappoint you again.” He whispered the last part, but Ford heard every word.

Six fingers pulled off his trench coat while his mind screamed at him. _What are you doing?_ The gun strapped to his back clattered to the floor. _It will never work!_ The red turtleneck followed it. _You know what this means!_ First one boot, then the other were tossed over to Stan as Ford tugged them off. _This is a suicide mission!_ They dressed in silence, neither facing the other. _YOU’RE GOING TO LOSE HIM FOREVER, AND YOU CAN’T EVEN SAY THANK YOU?_

Stanford’s throat tightened painfully as the last thought ripped through his mind. He turned to say something, anything, to Stan, but froze at the sight before him.

His spitting image looked back at him, the pain and fear he wore mirrored back. He had encountered doppelgangers before in other dimensions but none unnerved him, sent a pang through him like this one. Because it wasn’t a doppelganger or clone or alternate version of himself. It was his brother. It was Stanley.

Stanley, who had always been proud of their matching faces.

Stanley, who had worn Stanford’s face for thirty years to bring him back.

Stanley, who would soon die wearing it.

All of the words that Ford wanted to say to Stan overwhelmed him. _I don’t deserve this. Thank you for bringing me back. I’m sorry for not believing you. Please, I can’t lose you again. Why would you do this for me, when all I’ve shown you is coldness? I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. This could never work. This has to work. We have to save the kids. Please, don’t leave me alone again._ Ford opened his mouth to speak but was cut off as Stan raised a trembling hand and spoke before him.

“High six?”

Suddenly they were ten again, standing on a beach together looking out at a bright sunset on the horizon. Their whole lives stretched before them, full of hope and light and dreams, as Stan threw an arm around Ford’s shoulder. There was no sadness, no pain, no lost time. _Wherever we go, we go together!_ Stan proclaimed. _You, you really mean that?_ Ford asked. _Of course! High six?_ Stan held out a hand, grinning. Ford smiled. _High six._

The dream shattered like it had begun. The smiling Stanley in his memory was replaced by the haggard face looking back at him with bravery and barely-concealed sorrow.

Ford’s hand trembled as well as six fingers raised to meet five. _I thought you said wherever we go, we go together. Liar._

“High six.”

Thunderous footsteps echoed through the room.

_Time’s up._

 

_“'til the sirens sound, I’m safe.”_

“Oh, uh, hey there … kiddo. What’s your name?”

Stanford almost broke at that sentence from Stan. Almost, but not quite.

“Uh, Grunkle Stan?” Mabel asked.

“Heh, who ya talkin’ to?” Stan answered her sheepishly.

_We knew this was what would happen. It’s not a surprise._

“C-c’mon! It’s me. It’s me, Grunkle Stan! _Grunkle Stan, it’s me!_ ” Mabel wailed.

Ford couldn’t take it anymore. He gently laid a hand on Mabel’s shoulder and broke the news to her.

“We had to erase his mind to defeat Bill. It’s all gone. Stan has no idea, but he did it. He saved the world. He saved me.” _He saved me when I didn’t deserve it._ Stan looked up at him with such childish confusion that for a moment the bright beach and the sound of waves from their childhood flashed around him. It was gone again in an instant. _Just like Stan._

Ford knelt down in front of him, eyes crinkled against the coming tears. The words he was going to say should have been said before this, when the person they applied to still existed. When the person they were said to still understood, still cared.

“You’re our hero, Stanley.”

Finally, after nearly forty years, Stanford Pines hugged his brother. Ford broke at the words and the hug, tears streaming down his face and dripping onto Stan’s jacket. _You’re our hero Stanley. You’re_ my _hero._

In a clearing in the woods, a family wept.  
*  
When the handyman had shown up in the clearing, Stanford thought he might break again. The boy had crumpled - there’s no other word for it - when Ford had told him what had happened to Stan. He hadn’t yelled, or argued in denial, or blamed Ford [which he should have it’s my fault I did this Stan chose this but I could have done things differently.] He had cried, and hugged Stan (who was now even more confused) and had simply … accepted it. Which, if anything, made it worse.

It made it real.

The trip back to the Shack was silent and painful. Seeing the Shack in such disrepair was a physical reminder of the destruction of Stan’s mind. If Stanford had anywhere else to go (and if his niece and nephew hadn’t insisted on bringing Stan back to the Shack to re-spark his memories) he would have run as far as possible from the reminder of his failure. _I know it’s permanent. I know there’s no way for it to work. But who am I to take that last bit of hope from them?_

Stanford watched as Dipper and Mabel led Stan by the hand back into his home. Watched them sit him in his favorite chair, tell him who he was, what he had done. He spoke up once, to tell Mabel that Stan was gone forever and there was nothing that they could do about it.

And in typical Mabel fashion, she ignored his pessimistic logic in favor of optimistic hope.

She picked up her scrapbook from the ground and pulled Stan over to the chair. It seemed hopeless at first, but then … Stan remembered. _It’s only a pig’s name, but it’s a start._ Some of Stan’s old personality crept back into his speech. Mabel kept reading and soon the family was laughing together. _So much has happened this summer that I never even knew about,_ Ford thought. _I never knew … never thought … never realized just how important you [were] ARE to these kids._

_They love you just as much as you love them._

Stan wrapped his arms around the kids and laughed. To Ford, there was no sweeter sight. _Please come back. I know you’ve done the impossible before, and with these kids I know you can do it again. Come back to us, Stanley._

For the first time in over three decades, Stanford Pines allowed himself to hope.

 

_“'til the sirens sound, I’m safe.”_

In a clearing in the woods, half-buried in the moss and ferns of the Oregon forest, a triangular stone statue holds out its hand.

It was late morning when Dipper finally found the clearing. He remembered where they had fallen after the Fearamid broke apart and had started his search in that general area. After an hour or so of traipsing through blackberry bushes and underbrush, he had finally found it.

The final resting place of Bill Cipher.

The statue was already half-covered in moss. It had been less than two days since Weirdmaggedon and it seemed the forest had wasted no time in claiming the stone as its own. Not that it bothered Dipper. He wouldn’t touch the statue with a ten-foot pole, so the sooner the earth claimed it the better. _No one can shake his hand if he’s pebbles and dust._

Dipper sat down in the grass a fair distance from the statue. Reaching behind himself, he pulled a bundle of papers from his backpack along with a lighter and a small shovel. He laid the items out in front of his feet and contemplated them. After a while, he spoke.

“You’re really too dangerous to even keep investigating, even for the most careful of scientists. Some things are not worth the price of knowing,” he said with a shake of the head. “You’ve ruined so many lives, manipulated so many people, and done so much damage even with warnings attached to any information about you. I can’t in good conscience let that continue. So, I’m ending it.”

Dipper brushed the dry grass and leaves away from a spot on the ground in front of the statue and, using the shovel, dug a small hole. He stood and tucked the bundle of papers under one arm, picking up the lighter with the other hand.

“You tricked Gideon into making a deal with you, but you failed.”

Dipper pulled a piece of paper out of the bundle and set it on fire, tossing it into the hole.

“You tried to destroy Grunkle Stan’s mind, but we beat you back and we saved him.”

He pulled another piece out and burned it as well.

“You tricked me into making a deal and you stole my body, but Mabel saved me.”

Another page burned.

“You lied to Ford for years and used him to make the Portal, but he worked his damned hardest to stop you and he finally succeeded.”

Another page burned.

“You took advantage of my sister’s pain and her trusting nature and you trapped her in a twisted nightmare of her dream, but she trusted me more than she trusted you and I got her back.”

Another page burned.

“You tortured everyone in this town, _including my uncle,_ but we still managed to come together and defeat you, and now we’re repairing all the damage you did.”

Another page burned.

“You were going to kill Mabel and me, but Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford saved us and _they beat you._ ”

Another page burned.

“Destroying you nearly cost us Grunkle Stan, which I’m sure you were hoping for, but guess what? Yet again, _you lost._ We got him back, and we’re never going to lose him again because _you didn’t come back with him._ You are dead and gone, Bill, and I am going to do everything in my power to make sure you stay that way!” he shouted.

Dipper threw the last burning pages into the hole angrily. At some point tears had begun running down his face. He swiped at them roughly, taking a few deep breaths.

“It’s over, Bill. We beat you, and we won.”

Dipper crouched down and scooped the dirt back over the remains of the papers in the hole. No bits or pieces of paper remained, only ash. He stood and stomped the earth back down, kicking some leaves and twigs over it for good measure. When he was finished, no trace of the hole remained. He smiled at his handiwork.

“I am done being afraid of you. There’s no point. I know you can be defeated, and I know for certain you _have_ been defeated. You’re not coming back on your own, and I’m going to make sure that no one can possibly _bring_ you back.”

Dipper turned away from the statue and walked back to the forest path, scooping his backpack up along the way. As he adjusted the straps to his shoulders, he faced the statue once more.

“I’ll be watching you.”

Dipper walked back along the forest path, mind more at peace than it had ever been. He turned back once, right before the path turned and he lost sight of the statue.

Birds sang as the mid-morning sun grew hotter and a breeze rustled through the trees. The statue sat in silence.  
*  
In a clearing in the woods, half-buried in the moss and ferns of the Oregon forest, a triangular stone statue holds out its hand.

It was late afternoon when Stanley Pines stepped into the clearing, black suit and red bow tie impeccable. The familiar red fez he usually wore was absent, residing now on the head of another family member. Stan smiled at the thought. There was no one around to see the emotion, anyway.

He walked calmly up to the statue and stood still for a minute, regarding it with a mix of pity, disgust, and relief. Satisfied with whatever he saw, Stan sat down on the mossy ground with a loud “Harumph!” and crossed his arms.

“You know, you never really stood a chance. For all your tricks and crazy cosmic powers, you were never going to win,” Stan said bluntly, breaking the silence. The statue said nothing.

“I mean, sure, you _almost_ won, you _almost_ succeeded, you almost ruled the world. But you didn’t,” he said. “Close, but no cigar.”

Stan pulled out a cigar with a grin and lit it, absentmindedly blowing smoke rings. They sat in silence for a while longer, the statue and the man in the suit.

“It was because of those kids, you know. Everything was because of those two knuckleheads,” Stan said, gesturing at the statue with his cigar. “You were never gonna win because you didn’t understand what it means to be important to someone. Because you didn’t understand how someone would sacrifice everything they worked for, just for their dumb sibling.”

Stan puffed at his cigar again.

“I don’t blame ya for disbelieving that, given how my brother and I treated each over the years. Nothin’ we did would have cued you in to us actually _caring_ about each other. Heck, we almost _didn’t_ care about each other … until those kids came along. They were the one thing we could agree on, find common ground through - we both cared about them. We both would have done anything to keep them safe.”

Stan fell silent again. Birds sang in the evening air. The cigar smoldered in his hand, half-forgotten.

“You never would have won, because there’s nothing more important to me in this or any world than my family. Not money, not power, not fame. None of it’s worth anything without the people you care about sharing it with you.” Stan leaned back, bringing the cigar back to his lips and watching the evening colors in the sky.

“I hope you learned that, wherever you ended up. We were pretty similar, I think - minus the whole dream-demon bit - and I think … no, I _know_ I coulda ended up like you, if I had chosen differently. If I’d left Ford in that Portal. If I hadn’t met those kids.” Stan looked back at the statue. “But you coulda ended up like me, too. Everything that happened to you in the end, everything that you did and became - that was all on you. You chose not to grow up and to act without paying attention to the consequences. Maybe you’ll get to do some growin’ up in another life or something.”

The statue listened in silence.

“No one was important to you, and really, you weren’t important to anyone. Not in the way that matters. And that’s why I’m sitting here, talkin’ to a statue,” Stan finished with a last pull on his cigar. He stood, grinding the butt of the cigar into the dirt.

“It was a good game, Bill. One you were always going to lose, but hey,” Stan shrugged, grinning. “I make my own luck. You never stood a chance against the world’s best con man, Stanley Pines. Especially when I have my family on my side.”

Stan turned and walked away from the statue. At the edge of the clearing, he stopped.

“And Bill?” he tossed back over his shoulder without turning around.

The statue sat in silence.

“I _won’t_ be seein’ you around.”

Stanley Pines walked back along the forest path. Birds sang as the light faded into darkness. The statue sat in silence.  
*  
In a clearing in the woods, half-buried in the moss and ferns of the Oregon forest, a triangular stone statue holds out its hand.

It was still dark when Ford got to the clearing. The sun had yet to fully rise, and the chilly night air stung his lungs. It still amazed him how cold it could get on summer nights in the forest.

He tucked his hands deeper into the pockets of his trenchcoat. His fingers brushed the cool edges of a pyramidal glass prism - the last evidence of Bill in the Mystery Shack other than the structure of the house itself. His notes and files on Bill had presumably disappeared and been destroyed in the turmoil of Weirdmaggedon (although he suspected a certain twelve year old may have taken it upon himself to dispose of them, and really Ford couldn’t blame him). He had held on to the prism for some indistinguishable reason, but if he was to do this correctly it had to go as well.

He approached the statue, stopping a few feet away.

The statue sat in silence.

“It’s over, Bill.” He pulled the prism out, turning in over in his hands and scrutinizing it intensely. “After all this time, I’m finally done with you.”

He spun the prism faster. “I’ve said I was finished with you before, but I mean it this time. It’s over. I’m moving on. I’ve won. I’ve _won._ ”

The statue sat in silence. Six fingers turned the prism over and over so fast it became a blur.

“You made my life hell,” Ford spat. “I dedicated years of my life to you. The first were in naive hero-worship, but most were in bitter determination to erase you from existence. And you never let me forget it, either. You chased me throughout the Multiverse. You sent your minions after me. You made it nearly impossible to survive, but I did. I did, and I _won._ Do you understand that? _I finally beat you, Bill._ ” Ford was nearly screaming now, fists clenched at his side. He finally looked up at the statue.

“ _I beat you, not back into a different dimension to cause more havoc, but right out of existence!_ ” Ford bellowed and threw the glass prism straight at the statue, hard. It shattered spectacularly against the stone eye of the statue without leaving a mark. Ford’s shoulders heaved with emotion. He collapsed to his knees with a groan and buried his face in his hands.

“I beat you,” he mumbled, “but only because someone saved me. In the end, I couldn’t even take you down myself.”

Tears leaked out between Ford’s fingers. He continued to talk, voice muffled by his hands. The statue listened, silently.

“I was so caught up in fighting you on my own that I gave you the perfect opportunity to destroy everything I worked for, everything I swore to protect. I thought I was ready to do anything to stop you. I wasn’t.” Ford hiccupped. Tears fell steadily from his hands.

“I failed the world by letting you back into it. I failed the kids by not keeping them safe. I failed myself by repeating my mistakes. I failed my brother by giving him no choice but to take my place.”

The clearing fell silent again, save for the occasional ragged breath from Ford. Dawn broke over the forest, bathing the clearing in soft golden light. The shards of the prism caught the light and refracted it into a myriad of colors.

“I failed, and even so I still beat you.”

Ford pulled his hands away from his face and took in the sight before him.

“ _We_ still beat you. Everything I did wrong before, it doesn’t matter. All the what-ifs, the things I could have done differently, the things that could have gone so much more wrong - they don’t matter either. Here and now, in this world, we beat you and you’re gone. You’re gone, and it’s okay for me to move on.”

Ford looked down at his hands.

“It’s okay for me to be happy,” he whispered.

He stood and brushed himself off before straightening up. The tears still streaming down his face were no longer tears of sorrow. A wide smile brightened his face, and he felt lighter than he had in years.

“Goodbye, Bill Cipher. We won’t be meeting again _any_ day.”

Stanford Filbrick Pines walked away from the statue of Bill Cipher, letting go of the obsession that had consumed most of his life and had almost cost him something much more precious than it. He never turned back. And he would never return to visit the statue save in the company of his family and friends. There was no need. He was sure in his brother’s victory and he now fully trusted in the love and promises of his family.

Birds sang as the full light of morning took hold of the forest. The statue sat in silence.  
*  
In a clearing in the woods, half-buried in the moss and ferns of the Oregon forest, a triangular stone statue holds out its hand.

The day was hot and still when Mabel reached the clearing, basket of flowers in hand. Daisies, specifically. She had spent the morning picking the last daisies of the year along the road to the Mystery Shack while the final repairs were made. She and Dipper would be leaving after their birthday party tomorrow, and she had one last thing to do before she left. 

One last thing to make right.

Mabel walked over to the statue and sat down, avoiding what appeared to be bits of shattered glass around the base of it. They were pretty, casting little specks of colored light onto the statue and the surrounding grass. She pulled a few daisies out of the basket and began weaving them together. In the silence, she spoke.

“Flowers have meanings. Did you know that? It’s this whole huge language. You can say a lot of different things with them, and sometimes it even matters how you present the flowers.”

She continued weaving, picking fresh stems and linking them through. The statue listened in silence.

“Dipper taught me some, but I learned a lot of it myself. It’s so cool - flowers are pretty AND smart, just like me.”

They sat in silence again, the statue and the girl weaving flowers. The soft quiet of the afternoon deepened, the usual warm hum of life around them somehow muted, waiting. Mabel pulled the last few stems out of her basket, expertly tucking the loose ends into the garland.

“Daisies mean innocence and renewal - they mean starting over from scratch. And put together in a crown like this, they’re a peace offering of sorts.”

She stood and stepped carefully over the broken glass to the statue. Gently, Mabel laid the garland around the brim of the statue’s hat.

“I forgive you. I would never trust you, and I never want to see you again, and if you ever, EVER try to hurt my family again I will personally trap you in an endless ball of yarn, but I forgive you. That’s how it works. If you do ever come back, remember that.”

Mabel stood and stared at the statue for a while. Eventually she started stepping backwards until she stood just at the edge of the clearing on the forest path. Taking a deep breath, she spoke.

“Goodbye, you isosceles jerk.” Mabel Pines turned and disappeared into the forest without looking back.

Birds sang softly in the full warm light of afternoon. The daisy garland fluttered in the breeze and the shattered bits of prism cast light back up on the statue. Peace settled over the clearing.

The statue sat in silence, its eye now closed.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: And that’s the end! This ended up being quite a bit longer than I had anticipated, but it seemed like a cop-out to do anything less.
> 
> I feel like an explanation of sorts is necessary for the last four little sections, where each of the members of the Pines family go to visit Bill (remember as well, I wrote this pre-Cipher Hunt). I think that, at one point another, each of the Pines would visit Bill’s statue for their own personal bit of closure. Dipper would, I think, be hopeful that Bill was gone forever but would even so always be vigilant for his return. Stan would, I think, need closure by proclaiming his victory to Bill. Ford would, I think, finally purge the Mystery Shack of any last Bill paraphernalia and would visit the statue to tell Bill himself that he was finished,that he was moving on, and that he was choosing to trust again without fear. 
> 
> Mabel, I think, would need closure by offering forgiveness even to her enemy. She would not be forgetting, or giving her trust again, or removing any of the consequences Bill had brought on himself, but she would offer love in return for hate and peace in return for chaos and forgiveness in return for guilt. In being the better and kinder person, she could in good conscience move on, regardless of how her goodness would be received.
> 
> As always, thank you to the lovely @crossroadsdimension for beta-ing my work. You are a wonderful friend and I am so blessed to have you.
> 
> Stay lovely, my dears.
> 
> -Nana Graye
> 
> P.S. I’m also tagging the lovely @somer-joure and @impishnature, both of whom I told about this work while it was still in progress, and who encouraged me to finally get it done :)


End file.
